Unearthly Marks
by SailorHikarinoMu
Summary: Surely, America recognized a hickey when he saw one. But this? The sheer number of them? The reoccurring precision? Now, that just had to be something else. Warning: M/M pairing, Canada x America, implied Canada x World, some foul language, and some not-so-innocent imagery. Concerning the setting, I was thinking Boston, Massachusetts, but I have not made it explicit. So, feel free!


Disclaimer: Don't own. If I did, there'd be more Canada & America moments… because I totally think there should be more of those. ;)

Anyways… have fun reading! -xo-

 **Unearthly Marks**

The first time Alfred had ever seen 'the mark' was during a casual lunch-date with England. They had been idly chatting about world affairs, the exchange rate between Pounds and American Dollars, the Olympic Games that had just ended not so long ago yet still seemed to have passed so fast… nothing unusual, to put it simply.

At a lull in the conversation, Arthur had tipped his head to the side in a small stretch, relieving himself of the tension in his shoulder blades, and thus unintentionally allowing the purplish patch of skin to peek out from underneath the European's V-neck.

Of course, Alfred had caught sight of it, to which he had proceeded to point it out with the least bit of tact possible and interrogate the, by then, visibly flustered Englishman.

Though when the North American had asked about it, to which the only answer Arthur had allowed himself to give was a muttered 'just a rash', Alfred had shrugged it off and changed the subject.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Because why spare any more thought on something so trivial anyway? The island nation and France had most probably – finally – resolved some of the (quite noticeable, most would agree) sexual tension they had towards one another, was the conclusion Alfred had come to.

That was, until he had spotted the next one. And the next one. And the ones after that.

A single, large, dark blotch. Always at the same place. Always of the same shape.

Yet, always on a different nation; nations from every continent, without exception.

Spain, Australia, Greece, China, Portugal, India, Cameroon, Mexico…

Even some of the South American countries.

After days spent guessing and wondering about the possible origin of these marks – after all, 'aliens' was always a possibility – Alfred had noticed yet another pattern.

The marked nation was always male.

And that only put the American on edge.

* * *

"Hey! Heeeeeey Matty! Maaaaaaatt! Over here! Come sit with meeeeeee!" Alfred called with cupped hands around his mouth.

Said Matthew Williams jerked around in surprise, cutting Belgium halfway through her sentence. Violet eyes having zoned in on the one who had disturbed his pleasant conversation with the European, he turned back to said female nation, apologizing for the unintentional interruption and making a point to ignore his Southern brother.

Or at least, that had been his intention until Alfred had started repeatedly yelling his name in a seemingly never-ending round of 'MattyMattyMatty's (one would think it were a workout, what with the way the American's face was puffing up from not breathing) which in turn, caused every nation in the conference room to stop and stare.

Sighing heavily, the Canadian bid farewell to the Belgian woman and made his way towards his nuisance of a brother – not that he minded too much though, having been talking with the waffle-eating nation for what seemed like hours.

When his literal 'closest' ally neared, Alfred patted the chair to his right. "Hey bro, I saved you a seat. So sit next me today, 'kay?" He flashed his signature all-American smile, laughing and 'aww'ing when Matthew tried to snort in what Alfred assumed as contempt, only to scrunch his nose cutely.

Heh, annoying the Canadian was always so enjoyable.

As Canada took the proffered chair, the superpower proceeded to not so subtly – key word being 'not' – check his Northern brother over for any sign of the stupid (stupid only because Alfred still could not figure out where in George Washington's name they had come from) mark.

Seeing no blemish whatsoever on his best bro's beautiful porcelain skin – thank Jefferson for the uncomfortable humidity in the meeting room which encouraged everyone, including Matthew, to keep the top of their shirts unbuttoned – Alfred calmed, sighing in relief.

So the aliens had yet to get to Canada. Good, good.

Said nation's words pulled America out of his thoughts:

"Uh, hey Al? You okay? You just got awfully quiet all of a sudden…" The Northerner shifted in his seat, fanning his face in an attempt to cool himself, yet still staring questioningly at the American.

The superpower shrugged. Feigning nonchalance like the smooth actor he was – because Hollywood is certainly more than just for show, baby – he answered, "Nah, just the heat getting to me 's all."

The Arctic nation chuckled. "Yeah. I think it's getting t–"

"Attention," yelled Germany from his position near the podium. "Everyone, please take your seats. The meeting will begin now."

The North American brothers sent each other matching looks of amusement, Canada snickering for no particular reason while America barely choked a laugh.

Maybe it was the heat, or the whole ridiculousness of being in a stuffy conference room at the end of August when clearly no one felt like being there, or just the interestingly disheveled-looking Ludwig screaming at the top of his lungs for everyone to quiet down while a certain Italian nation hung off his arm, claiming at that moment to need his daily 'siesta time'.

Whatever it was, their fits of laughter only died out when Germany decided to finally adjourn the meeting – only because the latter had finally noticed that not a single other nation besides himself was feeling productive that day.

But hey, an adjourned meeting was an adjourned meeting. And after the other nations had practically run out of the room in unbridled joy despite the sighing German not too far away, the blond siblings continued to share a laugh or two.

By then, the whole 'mark' thing had completely left America's mind.

* * *

It was not meant to last however, as Alfred was once again reminded of his newest possibly-alien-related concern when he stumbled upon another nation while walking down one of his streets – the conference was set to last a week at the minimum if all went well, so meeting random nations while wandering around his city was a likely possibility.

"Ah, why hey there America. I didn't see ya coming this way until now," said the other nation, a huge (and suspiciously satisfied-looking) grin plastered to his face.

It fell on deaf ears however, as Alfred was currently staring wide-eyed and gaping like a fish at the mark on the man's _neck_. Was it him or was this particular 'mark' bigger than the last. It was certainly on a more visible place this time, that was for sure.

Denmark raised an eyebrow at the vacant, almost horrified look in the North American's eyes and snapped his fingers in front of the latter's face. "Uh, America? What's your deal, buddy? You feelin' alright?"

At the lack of an answer, the Dane shrugged and continued on his way, saying a quick "See ya later!" in passing.

About a whole ten minutes later, Alfred finally woke up from his haze, shaking his head in disbelief.

Well damn.

* * *

Matthew woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. Sometimes he cursed the fact that he could sleep through anything, otherwise he would have woken up to his polar bear smashing his coffee maker – he never left Canada without it, even when only travelling across the border to the United States – to pieces because it had apparently been making 'strange noises over the course of the night'.

The Canadian had sighed deeply at the excuse. Admittedly, he had been meaning to buy a newer model; the one that was now broken (thanks to a certain cub of his) had had an average life expectancy of five years and Matthew had been using it for ten. So of course the small kitchen appliance was going to eventually start malfunctioning. But that certainly did not mean it had deserved such a tragic ending! And just where was he supposed to get his daily fix of caffeine now? There were no Timmies in the area!

Frowning as he walked down the hall, the Northern nation's grumbles concerning how there ought to be more Tim Hortons in the States were suddenly cut off as he was pulled to the side and quite literally slammed against a wall.

Hissing in displeasure at being manhandled in such a way – right in the middle of a godawful coffee-lacking morning, no less – he opened his mouth, just about ready to yell at his aggressor when the other nation beat him to it:

"Matt, duuuuude, I need your help. Like, _really_ need it."

Whatever the Canadian had been about to say died on his tongue; America looked frightened, almost paranoid. The last time the Arctic nation had seen his brother this way was during the Cold War.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Matt. The aliens. They're coming. They've already infiltrated the planet. Some of the nations are already part of _them_. Matty, we've gotta save the rest of the world while we still can."

Or his brother was just definitely being a moron. In which case, neither would be good.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefingers, the Canadian chose to be quick and concise, something he knew to be quite effective lest he encourage the other. "Al, I'm not sure how or where you've received word of an outside threat on the planet, but I don't believe you."

Worrying his lower lip, the American shook his near-twin's shoulders for further emphasis. "But Maaaaaatt, I'm not kidding. They're coming for us, and who knows how much time we have left before they _completely_ take over the Earth," he stressed.

Seeing only honesty and sheer determination in the American's baby blues, Matthew decided he may as well entertain the notion of an upcoming alien invasion. "Okay, fine," he sighed, before adding, "Now that I'm actually listening, what makes you think that aliens are currently here among us? And why would they be after us nations? Wouldn't they be more interested in stealing our resources rather than wasting their time with us?"

Alfred shook his head with all the seriousness in the world, before answering simply, "I saw them Matty."

"…Saw who? The aliens?" Canada cocked his head to the side, confusion lacing his voice. His brother was truly starting to worry him.

Alfred shook his head again. "Not who, Matty. But _what_. There are these… 'marks' they leave behind, always of the same shape and size."

The Northerner raised an eyebrow in interest. "Marks? What kind of marks?"

"Big, dark areas of skin. At first, the mark only appeared on shoulders, but now it seems like the aliens have become bolder. Now I'm seeing these 'marks' appear on necks. It's as if they're trying to prove a point or something. The fact that the neck is usually more visible on a person than a shoulder shows confidence." He was then struck with realization, "Oh my God, Matt! They're getting confident! That could only mean one thing: they think they've won. But that's not true because we still have each other. We'll fight together, side by side." And boy did Alfred love the image his mind's eye was currently projecting: a sweaty, shirtless Matthew shooting down aliens with a big, powerful machine gun... Mmm, hell _yeah_. "You and me… we could still win this. With your smarts and my brawn – though technically we're both quite mentally and physically strong – we could totally send these intruders on a run for their money!" He smiled, holding out a hand for Matthew to shake. "So? What do ya say?" he asked hopefully. They would be so kickass, rescuing people and destroying only the evil aliens – because Tony was still cool – to then disappear into the horizon and make sweet, sweet love under the sun once they were done saving humanity…

Just like in the movies. Double hell _yeah_.

Canada smirked, violet eyes half-lidded and uncharacteristically predatory. "'What do I say', you ask?" He lifted a hand to trace the American's bottom lip with his thumb, his other arm snaking its way around Alfred's waist. "I say… it's already too late."

Just as he heard the words leave the Canadian's lips, he found said lips suddenly on his own. Panicking, he pushed Matthew off of him, slamming him back against the wall for the second time that morning.

"OW! Al, what th–"

"No, you what the hell?" the superpower interjected, feeling slightly apologetic at seeing his Northern neighbour in pain, but remaining firm. "What I've been saying is serious and you go ahead and pull that stunt on me? Not cool, dude. Not. Cool," he enunciated, now angry. Matthew was obviously trying to take advantage of his feelings to get him to shup up. After all, everyone knew Alfred was absolutely, utterly, pretty much _hopelessly_ infatuated with the Canadian. Though, Alfred himself never necessarily acted on it; he preferred the relative safety of the 'bro zone' over the cold dagger of rejection any day.

Canada looked to the side, hurt evident in his tone despite the attempt to mask it with his own anger. "Well maybe if you'd come around to getting your head out of your ass for more than a second you'd finally understand." He balled his fists at his sides in frustration, still looking at anything but Alfred. "I've been trying to make you jealous, you idiot." He then turned on his heel, walking away from the now confused American.

Anger returning to his being at full force, Alfred yelled after the retreating form. "Hey! You get your hockey-playing ass back over here! I am not done with you yet, d'you hear me?" At seeing the Canadian's pace only increase in speed, he continued to yell, partly in fear that his best bro would stay mad longer. Because it always stung whenever his Northern neighbour was mad at him. He hated fighting with his precious Matty, yet the kiss had totally been uncalled for. The apocalypse was upon them, and all the other could think of doing was kiss him. Granted, he himself would gladly kiss the Northern nation again, and a gazillion times after that, but only once they had beaten the aliens! "Matthew Williams nation of Canada don't you ignore me. Get back here right now! You have some explaining to do Mister!"

The francophone suddenly stopped, turning sharply towards his Southern neighbour with a glare containing what must have been a concentration of all the raw, untamed power of the Great White North.

It almost sent Alfred cowering.

Almost.

"You know what, Al? _Screw you_. You're not my mom, and you're certainly not the boss of me. I am done with your shit." With that, he went back to walking away, ignoring America's shout of "God _dang_ it Matt, will you just wait!"

A pity, really.

Had he stayed just the tiniest bit longer, he would have bore witness to Alfred touching his lips.

And to the way said lips curved slightly upwards despite the previous yelling.

* * *

"Y'know… Matt's a douche, but he's the only one that could ever get me to actually listen. I barely listen to anyone. Ever. Except him. I always pay attention to him. He's the only one I'd be willing to change for. Yet sometimes, I wonder if he actually knows. I can never tell if he's playing around, or genuinely clueless." Alfred gazed out of the window of the small café he was in, watching his citizens mill about their day as he nibbled on a foot-shaped candy.

Arthur merely took a sip of his Earl Grey before asking, "Your point?", to then grimace in slight disgust at noticing the strange red gummy protruding from the American's lips.

America lazily popped the rest of the treat into his mouth, taking the time to chew and swallow and even clean some of the sticky residue off of his teeth with his tongue before answering. "I think I love him. And before you say anything," he stopped the Englishman who, predictably, had been on the verge of speaking, "let me specify that I think I'm _in_ love with him."

And just as predictably, the Brit turned quiet for a moment. "I see." He nervously took another sip of his tea, emerald eyes all the while landing once more on the bag of candy.

Again, Alfred answered without having to be asked, "They're called Big Foot candy. The company that produces them, the Allan Candy Company Limited, was entirely Canadian from the year it was founded and for eighty years after that until Hershey's bought it over, in 2014."

England raised an eyebrow. "I take it that you find pleasure in claiming what was once Matthew's as your own?"

Chuckling, Alfred admitted, "You have no idea. Call it whatever you like, but it makes me feel closer to him, like he's more mine than he is anyone else's. In other words, it makes me feel like he's more than just a physical neighbour to me, and that in itself is reassuring. Because sometimes, he's just so darn hard to understand, you know?" The American's gaze found itself transfixed onto the window once more, thoughtful. "He kissed me yesterday," he added softly, voice distant.

"Oh?" Arthur unconsciously fiddled with his dress shirt collar, loosening it.

"Yeah. And it was so nice." Alfred sighed, adding, "But, I was stupid."

England snorted. "What else is new?"

The North American pouted, eyes shifting to his former caretaker, before widening almost comically. "What…What's that on your neck?" Arthur barely had the time to blush before Alfred stood leaning over the table, practically ready to pounce as he inquired further, "Is that… another mark?" When the Englishman stayed frozen in place, mouth agape in mute horror, America spoke again, this time with all the conviction and stern authority his country was reputed for, "Arthur, how did you get that? Was it the aliens? Actually, don't answer that. For all I know, they probably already got you on their side. But don't you worry Arty, I'll save you. Matty and I wi–"

"No, it was most certainly not 'aliens', you sodding idiot. It was a nation!" The European suddenly interrupted himself, to then curse under his breath, realizing his mistake. For Arthur especially, keeping secrets from the ever excitable American had always been a difficult feat to pull off. "Oh bullocks." He prepared himself for the onslaught of questions, eyelids shutting tight to then slowly, tentatively crack open when nothing ever came. "Oi, aren't you going to ask me who?" he asked gruffly, partly curious as to the lack of reaction on the American's part.

Said man sat back down, arms resting casually on his chair's armrests. "What is there to ask? I'm just relieved I ain't dealin' with aliens here. Though, it does partly suck because I yelled at Matt over it, after he kissed me."

"Ah," England took a long, grateful sip of tea this time, inwardly thanking whatever higher entity watching over him that he had been spared from Alfred's–

"Actually, never mind what I just said. I want to know. I mean, it can't be France like I initially thought, because as sexually forward as he is, no one actually let's him do anything besides cop a feel… well, with the exception of you maybe. And I have quite literally seen a plethora of other nations with the same mark as you for it to simply be a coincidence. So… yeah, spill. Because I'm honestly starting to wonder why I haven't been approached yet. I mean, I am a very desirable specimen thank you very much, and I–"

England pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the headache he could feel coming as he interrupted the younger nation for the second time that afternoon. "For the love of the Queen, Alfred, I will not be 'spilling' anything. So be a good lad, and do go back to eating those Canadian-turned-American candies of yours while going on about how Matthew doesn't love you."

America frowned, not one to yield easily, especially to Arthur, and even more so to the fact that the whole affair was starting to sound suspiciously strange. "No. Tell me. You're stalling, and that only makes me want to know more."

"I am not stalling," the Brit harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Alfred snickered, unimpressed. "Maybe not before, but you are now."

Arthur turned away, after a moment mumbling, "You're not going to like it."

"Try me."

"No, really Alfred," the sandy-blond pressed. "I doubt you'll take kindly to this."

"Uh, _excuse_ me Arty, but do you need a reminder of just who you're talking to? I'm the United States of America, land of the free and home of the brave and current superpower of the world. Translation: I could totally handle whatever you're about to throw my way. So go on and blab away. I'm all ears."

"With what you've been telling me all afternoon, I don't think you will."

Then it clicked, the hamster wheel that was Alfred's thought process (because in all fairness, the American could be rather slow at times) now spinning wildly.

"Wait… you mean Matt did this to you? He's the one that's been…" he trailed off, the hurt in his eyes betraying his otherwise neutral façade. "You mean he's been screwing around with a bunch of other nations while I've been pining over him like a love-struck teenager this entire time?" He paused, eyebrows furrowing. "Does that mean the kiss yesterday actually meant nothing? …He really was just playing with me?"

"Now Alfred, you can't be certain about that. Besides, I myself haven't seen him with anyone else but me, you and Belgium." He then tacked on a mumbled "Though he is rather inconspicuous when he wants to be," as an afterthought.

Alfred, on his part, was having none of it, too preoccupied with other things, like why in the name of all that is holy did the Canadian think it was okay to go gallivanting – literally – around the globe when Alfred was right there, waiting and wanting and laying his heart out on a goddamn golden platter if the Canadian so chose to take it.

Because Alfred was practically holding it out to him.

Though, he would only let Matthew keep it if the Canadian gifted his own in return.

And the American was set on this decision.

"Oi, pay attention when I am speaking to you." Arthur swatted the other over the head with a glare, prominent eyebrows raising when his former charge remained unmoving and silent: two things that never bode well when it came to Alfred.

Wary, the Englishman nevertheless brought his teacup to his lips, disregarding the fact that said beverage had cooled by then – because good tea was good tea, even if it was consumed in America (And with that thought, really? Sweet tea? Who in the bloody hell had invented such a thing and thought it was a good idea? 'House wine of the South' his arse).

He then jumped, warm tea sloshing over the rim and onto his dress pants as Alfred abruptly leapt to his feet.

"Oh hell no! This monkey business stops now!" America roared, paying no mind to how everyone's eyes – be it the staff or other customers – had landed solely on him, some simply staring in confusion while others openly glared.

Stomping out of the coffee shop, the last thing on Alfred's mind was the European nation he had been sitting with, and who, to the American's pleasure, was currently left dabbing furiously at his pants with the cheap dispenser napkins at his disposal.

 _Heh, I guess I did get you to 'spill' something, after all._ He smirked to himself.

* * *

Matthew kissed the man in his arms fervently, hands roaming the South American's bronzed chest, when suddenly Alfred forced himself in, quite literally knocking the hotel room door off its hinges.

Jumping in surprise, the Canadian paused long enough to evaluate the newest development, to then quirk an eyebrow at the sight of his brother. "Al? What are–"

"No. Just shut up, Matt. I don't wanna hear it." America's anger only tripled at the sight of the other nation in the room, baby blues thinning into slits. " _You_ ," he growled, pointing to where the door once was, "Out. Now."

As the Ecuadorian hastily left – because the superpower looked almost murderous at that point; any other nation would have done the same thing – Alfred quietly regarded the one he called his near-twin: blond waves of hair disheveled and snowy skin flushed in a way that practically screamed arousal.

"Matt… what are you _doing_. You're so much more than this." The American shook his head in disappointment, the evident strain in his voice causing Canada to flinch.

Though, not for long.

"Excuse me? What the hell do you think _you're_ doing? Just barging in here like the Yankee you are and scaring off Ecuador. He was just about to give me a grand tour of his Galapagos Islands, too!" he spat childishly, bitter venom nevertheless dripping from his every word.

By then, all Alfred saw was red. Storming towards the bed, where Matthew still sat, tangled in the sheets, the American forcefully pinned the Northerner against the mattress. "That _hurt_. You've really fuckin' hurt me, Canada. What I learned today: you and all those other nations… I can't allow that." He shook his head again for further emphasis, corn-blond strands of hair whipping back and forth. "I can't."

By that point, the Arctic nation had stopped his half-hearted attempts at throwing the American's body off him – it was undecided whether he liked being at the mercy of his brother, or not – in favor of scrunching his face in confusion. "Huh?"

Alfred sighed, plaintive and loud. "Maaaaaaatt, don't tell me you don't know," he whined, his anger having receded quickly despite himself.

Because ever since the two had met, he had found himself incapable of staying mad at Canada for long.

"Know what?" Amethyst eyes now mildly curious behind glasses, he studied the American still looming over him, wondering just what his Southern neighbour was getting at.

Blue eyes shifted nervously from the Canadian's face to the bedsheets twisted messily by his knees, because OshKosh B' _Gosh_ was this going to be _hard_. "Well… for instance, haven't you ever noticed that I always insist you have the first bite of my hamburger, or if not a bite the whole thing, whenever we're running late for something and I hear your stomach making funny noises? Or how, whenever we go out to eat at a place that serves French fries, I always leave you the small crispy ones at the bottom because I know they're your favorite part, even though they're my favorite part too? Or when you're having a bad day and you feel like no one gives a damn about you, so I take you out for karaoke and impersonate Céline Dion or Justin Bieber or Avril Lavigne, and look only at you while I sing, just to remind you that you're worth something to me, and that you actually have quite an arsenal of talented citizens, even though we both know Bieber has been a bit of a pain in my all-American ass over the last few years…?" he trailed off with a small humorless chuckle, waiting for the imminent rejection he feared was coming.

Slowly, unsurely, Canada nodded. "What about those times?"

With yet another faint chuckle, Alfred quietly admitted, "It's all for you. I would never bother doing that for anyone else." He paused, gambling in his head on whether or not his next words would be worth it, before deciding that yes, they most definitely were; he needed Matthew to know. "You're special to me, Matt. Like, really, _really_ special," he stressed, hoping the Canadian understood the extent of his feelings behind the simple choice of words.

He was then utterly bewildered at his brother's reaction; Canada laughed, throwing his head back as deep, rich chuckles escaped his smirking lips.

The Southern nation watched him for a moment, cobalt blue eyes wide in confusion before narrowing into a harsh glare. "Mind explaining what the fuck is so funny?"

The caramel-blond shook his head with poorly concealed amusement, trying in vain to compose himself. "Honestly, Al. We're both so dumb." He grinned up at the American, to then propel himself upwards, causing the American to yelp as their positions on the bed were switched. Now grinning _down_ at his Southern neighbour – heh, just like good ol' geography – the Canadian tiptoed the fingers of one hand up America's collar bone to the latter's lips, worshipping the plump skin there with the pad of his thumb. "But still, clearly, your idea of romantic is different from mine. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to know that you were proving your love to me all those times?" He then paused, lips stretching into a genuine smile before he quietly admitted, "I thought you were just being nice because we're bros."

"So, you do love me back." It was a statement rather than a question, but had nevertheless been accompanied by an uncharacteristically shy smile on Alfred's part.

The francophone huffed. "Is that all you got from that?", which went completely ignored as America silenced him, tugging him down for a quick peck on the lips. "Hey!"

Humming delightedly, Alfred pressed a kiss to Canada's cheek before asking the one question that had recently been plaguing his mind, "If you love me, why'd ya hook up with all those other nations? I don't understand why in your right mind you thought that was a good idea, because all it really did was piss me off and hurt my feelings." He paused, inwardly changing his mind about wanting an answer – not that the Canadian felt like providing him with one. On the outside, however, he appeared contemplative, absentmindedly coiling a lock of Matthew's hair around his forefinger, before his face took on a solemn glower, cobalt eyes displaying obvious resentment. "Whatever the reason, don't you ever, _ever_ do something like that again. Or I'll legit kick your grade-A Canadian ass so high you'll be orbiting the Earth like a satellite. I don't like being played with Matt, especially if it's you, because you have no idea how much I trust you, and how much power you have over me, and I need to be sure that you'll never use my feelings for you just so you could take advantage of me. So, promise me?" By then, his eyes were gleaming pleadingly, almost vulnerable.

The room turned silent, Matthew secretly wary of America's disturbingly volatile mood swings, before he finally nodded once, the movement quick yet sure. "I promise."

The tension that had been in the American's jaw visibly relaxed at the words, youthful face melting in relief. "'Preciate that. Thanks," he drawled lazily, raising a hand to lightly caress the Canadian's face, strong fingers meticulous as they feathered over lips and cheeks, chin and nose.

Matthew then rolled off from on top of America's chest to the latter's side, not really paying attention to his words until they fell from his lips, though immediately regretting them. "You know, you were wrong about all the marks being the same shape. I was able to make a marijuana leaf on the Netherlands."

He especially regretted having said anything when Alfred suddenly tackled him onto the hotel room's carpeted floor, unconsciously dragging the web of bedsheets along for the ride.

The latter was intent on teaching the Canadian the first of many _very important_ rules when it came to dating him: _never_ speak of past partners.

* * *

When the pair of North American nations walked into the meeting room the next day, several sets of eyebrows rose at the sight of the three awkwardly-shaped love bites marring the porcelain skin of Canada's neck, and then the shamelessly smug American at his side.

One resembled a star, the other a poor excuse for a maple leaf, and the last a heart.

* * *

La Fin

Bwahaha! Oh Matthew… your plan would have worked a lot better if Alfred would have known from the start that it was you behind the marks instead of believing it was aliens…

*Shakes head*. Either way, I love portraying Alfred and Matt as dorks. It's honestly quite fun, not to mention hilarious, but I digress…

Anyways, in case ya'll are still wondering, Matt was trying to get our ever-loveable A-grade American hero to come to him (tch, lazy bum). He thought that by seducing so many nations (instead of simply yelling a big, fat 'I love you America' like he should have done), Alfred was going to get all jelly and possessive and therefore take action. But that plan kinda/sorta took a strange turn, even if they did get together in the end…

By the way, I honestly wrote this just for laughs. I didn't really mean anything serious by this, even if I did make my nation hurt Alfred (I'm sorry America, I swear I love you!). It was more for humor and ridiculousness than anything else.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope I made you laugh?

Because I certainly got myself laughing… not gonna lie…

 **Extra Information:**

The Allan Candy Company Limited was founded in Hamilton, Ontario, back in 1931, and stayed Canadian-owned for 80-ish years until it was bought by Hershey's in late 2014. I've always loved their candy, especially their famous Big Foot candies and Sour Watermelon Slices, so I'm glad that their products are now also sold in the US (because from what I know, their stuff used to be exclusively Canadian). Amongst other things, Hershey's also bought Brookside Foods (a Canadian company from Abbotsford, British Columbia that mainly produces awesome fruit-filled chocolates)…

Oh, and my mom would sometimes buy me clothes from OshKosh B'Gosh back when I was kid. To those who don't know, it's an American children's apparel company. That's why I included it in Alfred's point of view, also because I've always loved the name.

Osh. Kosh. B'Gosh.

Isn't that sorta satisfying to say out loud? No? Okay then maybe it's just me… Heh…

All that aside, take care you awesome readers!

~SHnM

P.S.: Heart-shaped hickeys are totally possible. Stars, too. Just google it. Leaves on the other hand… I'm not so sure.


End file.
